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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26193943">Come Clean</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/track_04/pseuds/track_04'>track_04</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age II</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Bathing/Washing, Clothed Sex, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Referenced Canonical Minor Character Death, Sparring</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:29:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,578</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26193943</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/track_04/pseuds/track_04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Carver gets some bad news from home. Cullen helps him work through it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Carver Hawke/Cullen Rutherford</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Black Emporium 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Come Clean</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kauri/gifts">Kauri</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I had a blast writing for you! Thanks for a great sign-up, and I hope you enjoy the results.</p><p>(Note: I completely made up everything to do with how the Templars in Kirkwall bathe, because for some terrible reason, there were no missions involving this in the game.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Knight-Captain.”</p><p>Cullen turned from his assessment of the half-rusted pair of gauntlets that Hugh was holding to find Ruvena standing in the doorway to the armory, flushed and slightly out of breath. He did his best not to look relieved to see her, the mind-numbing repetition that was the quarterly inspection of the armory having combined with the late summer heat to make it a nearly monumental task.</p><p>"Something you need, Knight-Corporal?"</p><p>"You need to come to the practice yard, ser."</p><p>Cullen frowned, grateful for one brief moment before he reminded himself that whatever he had to deal with out there was likely to be much worse than a bit of tedium and heat. He nodded at her, then turned to Hugh. "Keep up the good work. I'll return once I have this sorted." </p><p>“Yes, ser,” Hugh said, not bothering to hide his sour expression. </p><p>Cullen decided Hugh had earned the right to be annoyed and chose to ignore any hints of insubordination as he followed Ruvena out the door.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>--</p>
</div><p>Cullen let Ruvena lead the way, her pace brisk as they wound their way through the halls and out into the yard, the heat going from bad to unbearable when they stepped outside. He winced and did his best to school his expression into something serious and aloof, the sweat he could already feel running down the back of his neck and pooling uncomfortably beneath his armor making it more difficult than it should have been.</p><p>The training yard was oddly quiet for the hour and the number of people he could see gathered around its edges, the heavy clang of a sword striking something solid and the angry grunts of whoever wielded it the only thing breaking the heavy silence. The crowd blocked his view of whoever was in the ring, and he mentally sifted through a list of potential culprits as he worked his way through the crowd, using well-placed stern looks and a few sharp words until the recruits parted around him.</p><p>Normally when he was called out to the practice yard to settle a dispute, he found two recruits bloodied and battered and looking distinctly sorry for themselves, having lost their tempers and gone a bit too hard in their sparring. He would separate them, give them a dressing down in front of any onlookers, and make them spend the next fortnight polishing and re-polishing every piece of armor and weaponry in the Gallows. It was one of the more tiresome duties of his job, but it was an infrequent enough occurrence that it was relatively easy to deal with.</p><p>Which was why he had absolutely no idea what to do when he finally managed to force his way through the crowd and found only one person waiting for him in the ring.</p><p>Even turned away, Cullen recognized the angry set of those shoulders and knew that they belonged to Carver Hawke. </p><p>While he watched, slightly baffled, Carver swung his sword wildly at a half-destroyed practice dummy, chunks of wood and bits of straw and leather flying through the air to scatter in the dirt around him. At some point, he’d stripped himself of his armor from the waist up and left it in a pile on the ground, and the thin material of his undershirt clung to him, soaked through with sweat. Each swing he took with his sword looked more desperate than the last. </p><p>Cullen turned to find Ruvena standing beside him, watching the scene with an expression that mirrored his own.</p><p>"How long has this been going on?"</p><p>"At least an hour, according to one of the recruits that I spoke to, ser." Her frown deepened. "He was sparring with Paxley at first, but he bowed out when it was clear something was wrong."</p><p>"Is Paxley hurt?"</p><p>"A bit bruised, maybe, but nothing serious. Carver didn't really get rough until he started on the dummy." She glanced at the remains of the dummy in question and then back at Cullen, hesitating for a moment before she continued. "There was a messenger looking for him earlier, ser."</p><p>"I don’t suppose you know what they said?"</p><p>"No, but I don't think it was good news, whatever it was. Obviously."</p><p>Cullen nodded and took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders as he sorted through his usual strategies in search of a plan. "I want you to clear the crowd for me. Tell them they're to go somewhere that they can't gawk. And if I do catch anyone gawking, they'll be on scullery duty for a month."</p><p>"Yes, ser." She saluted him, expression more settled now that she had orders. She turned to the crowd around her and Cullen left her to it, resting a hand on the pommel of his sword as he crossed the yard in broad strides.</p><p>He cut a wide path through the dirt, circling around Carver to approach him from the side, well within his peripheral vision. He had very little fear that Carver would turn his anger on him, but the careless way he was swinging his sword left them open to an accident.</p><p>"Ser Carver," Cullen said, loud enough to be heard over the sound of metal meeting wood. "Is there a problem here?"</p><p>Carver faltered mid-swing, his sword bouncing off the sad remainder of a wooden post, spinning him halfway around so he had to crane his neck awkwardly to look at Cullen. His cheeks were flushed and a thin line of blood ran down his temple as he stared, panting heavily and looking more than a little wild-eyed. It took him a moment to gather his breath enough to speak, his voice tight and angry. "No, Knight-Captain. No problem."</p><p>Cullen looked him over, noting that the blood on his face seemed to be his only injury; reassured by that, he arched an eyebrow and kept an edge of sternness in his voice. "Is that so? Because you've nearly demolished that training dummy."</p><p>Carver looked down at the bits of leather and splintered wood littering the yard, his scowl deepening and his sword trailing in the dirt. "I suppose you'll be taking it out of my pay."</p><p>"Possibly. Although I do appreciate you taking out your temper on it and not any of your fellow templars."</p><p>Carver laughed, the sound catching wetly in his throat. "Just doing my part for the Order."</p><p>The set of his shoulders spoke of barely contained anger, something sharp and solid that even an hour spent swinging a sword in the late summer heat hadn’t managed to quell. Cullen knew that kind of anger, even if he didn't know what had caused it; he knew how it could eat at you, that if it was allowed to linger it would fester, grow into a darkness that spread until it kept you from feeling anything else. It was not an anger that he wanted to see in any of his fellows, and especially not in someone that he thought that, in a different time and a different place, he would have liked to call a friend.</p><p>“Right, then.” Cullen took a deep breath and unbuckled his shield from his back, settling it onto his arm and tightening his other hand around the hilt of his sword. "I believe you're in need of an opponent that can fight back."</p><p>Carver blinked at him, free hand reaching up to wipe sweat out of his eyes. "What?"</p><p>Cullen unsheathed his sword. "You obviously need to fight someone, so I’m offering."</p><p>"You want to spar?"</p><p>"Yes." Cullen twisted his wrist, testing the weight of his sword, and lifted his shield into a fighting position. Carver stared at him, confusion overtaking his anger for just a moment, and Cullen let his expression harden. "Do I need to make that an order?"</p><p>That seemed to shake Carver out of his surprise and he scowled, gripping his sword with both hands. For a moment, it looked like he might say something, but instead he narrowed his gaze and lunged forward without warning, bringing his sword over his head and down against Cullen's shield.</p><p>The impact pushed Cullen back slightly, his feet leaving furrows in the dirt and his arm stinging; he had a brief moment to hope that he hadn't misjudged the situation too badly before Carver swung at him again, leaving him just enough of an opening to bring his sword up and block Carver's blade as he twisted out of the way.</p><p>Carver growled in frustration and swung again, sword missing Cullen’s shield entirely this time and striking him in the side. Cullen hissed, glad for his armor as he moved out of the way, able to feel the bruise already forming against his ribs. He shook his head, ignoring the pain, and struck with his shield before Carver could attack again, pushing it against the half-raised blade of Carver’s sword to force him backwards.</p><p>The fight went quickly from there, Carver's wild blows allowing Cullen little time to strategize or fully consider his movements. He did what he could to account for Carver's bare arms and torso, but knew if he was too obvious about tempering his blows, it would only serve to make Carver more angry and more likely to lash out in ways that put them both at risk; the resulting dance was an interesting balance between giving Carver what he wanted and doing his best to avoid lasting injury to either of them. </p><p>It made for an ugly fight, but the challenge of it sent a thrill through him that he wasn’t quite willing to admit, even to himself.</p><p>Cullen didn’t know how long they spent like that, Carver aiming the force of his anger at Cullen and Cullen doing what he could to turn it aside, his limbs aching from the times when he didn’t quite manage it. He was weary and sweat-soaked when Carver turned unexpectedly mid-parry and Cullen, too exhausted from the fight, was unable to turn his blade in time. The tip his sword met Carver’s upper arm, leaving a bright red line in its wake. Blood trickled lazily down Carver’s arm as he stumbled, the pain enough to make him pause.</p><p>Cullen took a step backward, too out of breath for an apology, and looked to the now-empty yard around them. He could see the late afternoon heat shimmering in the air around them, hazy lines that served to remind him of the stickiness of his skin beneath his armor and the heaviness of his limbs. He wanted nothing more than to be done with this, out of his armor and inside somewhere slightly more cool; his only consolation was that Carver looked even more exhausted, his face and arms red from the heat and his chest heaving.</p><p>Carver took another swing at him and Cullen dodged out of the way more easily than before, noting the way he faltered beneath the weight of his sword. It took him a moment to catch his breath before he could turn to come at Cullen again, this time his movements visibly unsteady all the way through. </p><p>Cullen fought through his growing fatigue and turned the blow aside, watching as Carver stumbled and nearly fell onto his knees, only able to keep himself upright by digging the tip of his sword into the dirt and clinging to it, letting it support his weight. </p><p>Cullen seized the opportunity and came at him from behind, kicking his legs out from under him, leaving him sprawled on his back in the dirt. He pointed his sword at Carver's throat, managing by some miracle to keep the blade mostly steady, and stared down at him. "Are we done here?"</p><p>Carver's fingers twitched toward his sword, still standing upright in the dirt. Cullen half-expected him to make a move for it so he could take another swing at him, but instead Carver closed his eyes and swallowed harshly. "Fine. I yield."</p><p>"I accept." Cullen said, far too formal for someone fighting an opponent in Carver’s current state of half-undress. He sheathed his sword and offered Carver a hand, hoping that the full extent of his own weariness didn't show. </p><p>Carver opened his eyes and frowned at the outstretched hand; Cullen suspected that he was too tired to muster up the energy for a full scowl. "I'm fine here."</p><p>Cullen made a disapproving sound. "I'm not leaving you lying in the dirt. You're going to come with me to get cleaned up, and then you're going to let someone look at that cut on your arm."</p><p>"It's not deep," Carver grumbled, even as he reached up to take Cullen's hand and let himself be pulled to his feet. </p><p>Embarrassingly enough, it took Cullen a few tries to manage to get him upright; when they were both standing again, he laid a hand between Carver's shoulders and gave him a careful nudge towards the closest door.</p><p>Carver went without argument or any thought to his sword and armor left lying behind them in the dirt, which told Cullen all he really needed to know about his current state of mind.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>--</p>
</div><p>Cullen had always been far too afraid of seeming self-important to take advantage of most of the benefits available to him as Knight-Captain, but one look at Carver's expression as they made their way through the halls was all it took for him to decide that, just this once, he could make an exception. That decided, he steered Carver away from the communal baths with a hand on the small of his back, guiding him toward the smaller, more rarely used bath reserved for officers. For once, he was relieved instead of embarrassed that his rank afforded him the option.</p><p>The bath was harsh and utilitarian like everything else in the Gallows, far too small to be considered anything close to lavish by normal standards, but Cullen had been a Templar for so long that the mere fact that it wasn’t meant to be shared with everyone made it seem almost opulent. It had made him feel uncomfortable the few times he’d dared to use it, and he couldn’t say that he felt much different now; Carver being here at least made him feel slightly less like he swas putting on airs, but he could still feel the subtle itch of uneasiness beneath his skin. He decided to ignore it and started to strip out of his armor, keeping his back turned to Carver to allow him what little privacy the room would afford. </p><p>Carver remained silent behind him, the occasional rustle of cloth or click of a buckle being unfastened the only reminders that Cullen wasn’t alone. </p><p>When Cullen had managed to strip out of everything save the dirt caked on his skin, he gathered his things and stowed them on a shelf out of the way and turned, expecting to see Carver gathering up his things so he could do the same. Instead, he found Carver sitting on the room’s lone bench, shoulders hunched and his elbows resting against his knees, face buried in his hands.</p><p>Cullen watched him silently for a moment, unsure of what to do, until he finally decided to do the obvious. He crossed the room, gathering the clothing and armor piled on the floor at Carver’s feet and stored them on an empty shelf beside his own, being far more careful with them than their current sweat-and-dust-splattered state probably warranted. He took a moment to be glad that Carver had managed that much, at least, and then started to move around the room again, gathering clothing and soap and buckets. He tapped the runes set above the spigot in the wall and watched first one bucket and then another fill with warm water, actually glad for once of such a frivolous, unnecessary use of magic.</p><p>Carver sat silent through it all, face pressed against his hands. Cullen left a bucket and cloth and soap beside his feet, but Carver didn’t make a move to take them. Cullen took a seat as far away from him as he could manage on the small bench, allowing him what little space he could.</p><p>It made Cullen tired just to look at him, so he didn’t, focusing on cleaning himself as quickly and efficiently as possible instead. It was a cursory wash at best, thorough enough to wash the dirt and sweat from his skin but nothing as lazy or lingering as he or his aching limbs would have liked. Even so, it was still a relief, and when it was done he felt lighter for it, and glad that he hadn’t let some misguided sense of propriety force them into the communal baths.</p><p>It was hard to tell if Carver shared the sentiment, his face still hidden and his body slumped forward in the exact position that Cullen had left him in. Cullen started to speak but, unable to think of anything to say, decided to let practicality take over. He moved closer on the bench and reached for the soap and cloth that he’d left for Carver, hesitating just a moment before he picked them up and started the task of washing the dirt and sweat from Carver’s skin. </p><p>He was a bit less precise and efficient with Carver than he’d been with himself, keeping his touch gentle and doing his best to avoid the bruises already forming on Carver’s back and thighs. Carver didn’t give any real indication that he noticed or appreciated Cullen’s carefulness, but he dropped his hands from his face eventually and let Cullen wash those, too, then kept his head bowed so that Cullen could wash the sweat from his hair.</p><p>When he was done, Cullen laid a hand against his shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze. Carver still didn’t say anything, but he leaned just slightly back into the touch; Cullen ignored the sudden impulse to let his hand linger, too-aware of the warmth of Carver’s skin, and stood to search for clean towels and clothing less filthy than what they’d brought with them. </p><p>By some stroke of luck he managed to find both, some obviously cast off tunics and trousers shoved into a cabinet alongside the towels, threadbare and a bit musty from disuse, but still better than their other available options. He dried and dressed quickly and returned to Carver with a towel and an extra set of clothing in hand.</p><p>He took a seat on the bench and set the clothes and towel on the bare wood between them, running a hand through his still-damp hair in an effort to put it back into some semblance of order, and tried to decide how best to approach this. When no solution became apparent, he picked up the towel and cleared his throat, holding it awkwardly between them. </p><p>“Let me just—” he started as he began to dry Carver’s back. When Carver didn’t protest, he continued, doing what he could with the places he could easily reach and leaving the rest, deciding that a bit of lingering dampness would be acceptable, and perhaps even desired, once they were back out in the heat.</p><p>Carver remained silent through the whole process, staring out into nothing even when Cullen dabbed at the tiny cut near his temple, watching it for a moment to be sure it wouldn’t start bleeding again, and then reached for his injured arm, turning it gently so he could assess the damage. </p><p>"Do you need to see a healer?" </p><p>The look Carver turned on him was full of judgment and barely contained scorn. “I’m fairly certain I'll live without it. I doubt it even needs a bandage."</p><p>"You're getting a bandage," Cullen said, unable to keep the crossness out of his voice. He pressed the towel against it to stop any lingering bleeding. "And a poultice if I can find one. Hold this.”</p><p>Carver gave him another sour look, but reached up to hold the towel in place while Cullen stood. </p><p>The put-upon expression was still there Cullen returned with medical supplies in hand, lingering while Carver watched Cullen spread a foul-smelling green paste on his arm and bandage it more thoroughly than an injury of its size warranted. Cullen refused to acknowledge Carver's expression or that he'd likely been right about the non-seriousness of his injury, focusing instead on the task at hand and searching for something appropriately understanding or motivating to say.</p><p>He was a bit sorry that they weren’t still out in the training yard, as tired as the thought made him; he was much better with problems that he could hit with a sword until they went away.</p><p>"There." Cullen watched Carver's face as he tied off the bandage and reminded himself that sometimes the best path was the most direct one. "I was told that there was a messenger here to see you earlier."</p><p>Carver's arm tensed beneath Cullen's fingers and he looked away, jaw clenched so tightly that his words came out clipped. "And what if there was?"</p><p>Cullen dropped his hand to rest against the bench beside him, thumb worrying at the damp wood. "I thought it might explain your behavior in the yard.”</p><p>"I'm not required to tell you or anyone else about my personal business last I checked. <i>Ser</i>."</p><p>"Of course you aren't.” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, unsure where to go from there. “I'm not going to order you to talk about your private affairs, Carver. But if you need someone, to talk to—well, I can’t promise that it won’t be awkward or that I’ll be able to offer any real advice, but I will listen.”</p><p>Carver practically radiated discomfort, still refusing to look at him, every muscle in his body visibly tense. Cullen decided to take that for his answer and nodded to himself, then started to stand. </p><p>"Be sure you change that bandage tomorrow," he said, forcing his tone back to something more neutral. He’d just started to turn toward the door when he felt Carver’s hand on his wrist.</p><p>"My mother—”</p><p>Cullen waited for Carver to continue, afraid to speak or move and risk breaking the fragile connection hanging in the air between them. It was a tentative, uncertain thing, already stretched so thin that he thought it might snap under the least pressure. </p><p>“She—” Carver tried again, his grip on Cullen’s wrist tightening until Cullen could feel his bones practically grind together. </p><p>Cullen flinched but didn’t pull away, lowering himself back onto the bench beside Carver, careful not to sit too close or press him further. When Carver didn’t continue and didn’t make a move to pull away, Cullen decided, once again, to try for the obvious. “It was bad news?”</p><p>Carver nodded slowly and turned to look at him, his expression crumbling.</p><p>"Can I—” Cullen started, having no idea how he was going to finish the sentence.</p><p>Carver saved him having to figure it out, his expression shifting again, face going dark with something that wasn’t quite anger as he let go of Cullen's wrist, shifting his grip to the back of his neck. Cullen braced himself, half-expecting to be hit; instead, Carver dug calloused fingertips into his skin and pulled him forward into a kiss.</p><p>The sound that Cullen made was less than dignified, his body tensing and his mouth parting in surprise; he had the brief thought that he should pull away, that this was very obviously not the solution to this or any problem, but his body didn’t seem to agree, refusing to move and instead leaving him sitting there, frozen to the spot.</p><p>Carver seemed determined to offset Cullen’s uncertainty, his fingers sliding up to tangle in his hair and tugging sharply, forcing his head back slightly to deepen the kiss. </p><p>Cullen hissed and managed to move finally, his hands rising to clutch at Carver’s sides to hold himself steady.</p><p>It was a bit like battle, the way Carver kissed him, mouth rough as his teeth dug into Cullen’s lower lip, sharp and certain, marking the scene of his victory. Cullen shuddered and dug his fingers into Carver’s side as he started to kiss him back, telling himself that it was a logical response to being kissed like this, the only response that his training would allow him. </p><p>Carver's skin was warm and still slightly damp beneath his fingertips; Cullen slid one of his hands along his back to press between his shoulder blades, seeking out more of that warmth, ignoring that there was no clear advantage to doing so other than his own need to feel more of Carver’s skin.</p><p>Carver groaned at the added contact and bit at Cullen’s lip again, sliding forward along the bench until he was pressed flush against Cullen's side. Cullen pulled away with a soft, reluctant gasp, suddenly far-too-aware that Carver was still naked and now pressed against him.</p><p>"Carver—" Cullen cleared his throat, trying to ignore the way Carver's cheeks were flushed with more than just the ambient heat. </p><p>He fully intended to be the rational one and put a stop to things before they went any further, unsure why he'd let it get this far in the first place. Surprise and an in-grained reaction to his training didn't seem like adequate excuses when he still had his hand pressed between Carver's shoulders, his thumb idly tracing the edge of his spine.</p><p>But Carver didn’t bother waiting for him to finish before he started to kiss him again, tongue sliding into his mouth, and any honorable intentions that Cullen may have had died; he shifted, turning to straddle the bench so that he could better lean into the kiss, his knees pressed against Carver’s. </p><p>Cullen was uncomfortably aware of how thin his borrowed trousers were, their rough fabric forming a poor barrier between himself and all the places where Carver was touching him. He tried not to think about the way it rubbed against his cock as Carver's knees urged his further apart, leaving him spread open, like some wanton character in one of the filthy books that he carefully pretended he didn’t know the recruits were all reading. </p><p>Carver kissed his way down his neck and Cullen groaned, head falling to one side, his hands urging Carver closer before he could think better of it. There was a brief, unexpected moment of resistance before Carver gave in and surged forward to press fully against him.</p><p>Cullen swallowed, eyes falling shut at the feel of Carver's cock pushing against his hip, hard and ready. Carver's breath was hot against Cullen’s neck as he rocked his hips forward, Cullen's shirt bunching with the movement and lifting until he felt the tip of Carver’s cock against his bare skin. Cullen groaned and tried to arch back against him, wanting to feel Carver’s cock on his own and making a frustrated noise when his pants got in the way; thin as the material was, it was still too much, and he reached between them, fumbling with the laces and trying to simultaneously work them down and pull himself free.</p><p>Carver kept rocking against him and mouthing at his neck, oblivious to his fumbling or the frustrated noises he was making. Cullen could feel dampness against his skin from Carver and against the thin material of his pants from himself and he gave up, moving his hands to Carver’s hips, keeping him close as he laid back against the bench and pulled Carver down on top of him.</p><p>The change of position seemed to do what Cullen's frustration hadn't and Carver pulled away to stare down at him, his cheeks dark and his eyes too-wide. Cullen stared back, skin flushed to match his, and used his grip on Carver’s hips to move him into a better position.</p><p>"Maker’s balls. <i>Cullen</i>." Carver's eyes fluttered shut as their cocks pressed together, only that maddening layer of fabric between them. He started to thrust against him, fast and uneven and just a bit too roughly, the bench groaning in protest beneath them. Cullen ignored it, ignored the uncomfortable slide of fabric against his skin, ignored the way the wood of the bench dug awkwardly into his back, ignored everything except the ache in his cock and the feel of Carver’s weight against him, pinning him down.</p><p>He knew it couldn't have been comfortable for Carver either, his bare cock rubbing against rough fabric as much as it was against bare skin, but the look on his face and the way that he moved made it clear that the pain didn’t bother him. He almost seemed to chase after it, pushing his hips hard against Cullen’s, the tight press against their cocks making them both hiss softly, but neither making a move to pull away.</p><p>It felt a bit like sparring, stumbling through those first few faltering steps until you found the right rhythm, ignoring the aches and pains along the way, each movement building on the last as you reached that single, brilliant moment of clarity that meant it was all over.</p><p>Cullen felt Carver start to tense above him and he dug his fingers into his hips hard enough to bruise, breath catching as Carver arched against him and spilled warmth against his stomach. Cullen moaned at the feel of it, shifting restlessly as Carver gave a few final, unsteady thrusts, his still-hard cock spreading stickiness against Cullen’s skin. </p><p>Cullen kept his gaze fixed on Carver’s face as he reached between them, pressing a hand against his own clothed cock, material of his trousers damp beneath his palm as he tried desperately to work himself to completion. The angle was awkward, but it still didn't take him long to manage it, Carver's eyes opening just in time to watch his face as he finished.</p><p>Carver waited until they were both done shivering and then collapsed against him, struggling to catch his breath. He was heavy, almost uncomfortably so with the new-found looseness in their limbs and the bruises that Cullen could once again feel along his back, but Cullen ignored his discomfort and closed his eyes, letting himself relish the brief disconnect from his own thoughts that always came after sex. He moved a hand from Carver's hip to his back, stroking the damp skin along his spine absently as he waited for his heartbeat to slow back to normal.</p><p>He knew in the back of his mind that this would all matter later, that he'd likely lie awake in bed for half the night going over everything that had happened, but for now, in this brief moment lying beneath Carver, he was content. Carver seemed to feel the same, not bothering to move until long after they were both breathing normally again and the sweat had started to dry against their skin.</p><p>When Carver pulled away and sat up finally, Cullen followed him, keeping his eyes fixed carefully on Carver’s shoulder. He watched Carver pick up the towel off the floor to cover himself, either out of his own embarrassment or because he could sense Cullen’s, and he felt his cheeks heat with his newly-remembered sense of modesty. </p><p>"Right," Cullen said when Carver didn't speak, rubbing at the back of his neck and looking around until he found the borrowed shirt and trousers that he'd brought for Carver, now lying in a messy pile on the floor. He picked them up and offered them to him for lack of anything else to do. "Better?"</p><p>"Not really,” Carver said, staring at the clothes with a vaguely resentful expression before he reached out to take them. For a moment, it looked like his earlier anger might return, but when he met Cullen’s eyes it faded away again, replaced by uncertainty. He cleared his throat and looked away again. "I may need to take a few days leave. My—something’s happened.”</p><p>"Of course.” Cullen started to reach for him and stopped, pressing his hand against his own thigh instead. “Come find me tomorrow and we can work out the details." </p><p>"I will. Thank you."</p><p>Cullen nodded, thinking that he didn’t deserve to be thanked for anything at the moment. He pushed aside the guilt he could feel starting to build in his chest and forced a slight smile. "And be sure to have that arm looked at if it starts to bother you."</p><p>"Yes, ser," Carver said. Cullen thought he may have seen a smile—a  brief, not entirely happy thing, but a smile nonetheless—but it was there and gone so quickly that he couldn't be sure.</p><p>" I'd best be going." Cullen stood and tugged his borrowed shirt down to cover the damp patch on the front of his borrowed trousers, thankful, at least, that it wasn’t far to his quarters. He was halfway to the door before Carver spoke again.</p><p>"Ser?"</p><p>Cullen bit back a request for Carver to call him Cullen, telling himself that any moment they’d managed to share was over, and turned to face him. He mustered up the most neutral expression that he could manage, which he suspected wasn't very neutral at all. "Yes?"</p><p>"Thank you. I mean it." </p><p>"Anytime," he said, and knew that even if he second guessed himself later, that right now he meant it, too. "Good day, Carver."</p><p>He thought he might have heard a quiet <i>Good day, Cullen</i> as he walked away, leaving Carver and everything they’d just done behind him.</p>
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